Night Terrors
by AB115
Summary: "The worst part is how it ends," he whispers, his words hitting her in the face. "He shoots in the nightmares. I don't get to walk out." Post-3xk, pre-everything else. For purposes of this story, no Josh or Gina. M rated for chapter 3. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

"Just how close to death do you want to get?" He hears the menacing voice before his eyes clear enough to see Jerry Tyson's face looming large in front of him. He hears the gun cock, feels a rush of air leave his lungs, and he isn't sure he'll ever be able to catch his breath, ever be able to breathe again. He thinks this is much closer to death than he ever wanted to be, and considers saying so, but he's not sure that talking is going to help him. As he considers it, he hears the pull of a trigger, the whooshing sound of a bullet forced through the barrel, watches as it heads straight for his skull, unable to move out of its way. The last thing he thinks is _I never got to tell her I love her_.

Just as he feels it pierce his skin, he opens his eyes, shoots up. He realizes that he's in his bedroom, and tries to slow his breathing, telling himself it was only a dream, feels the sweat on his body turn cold as it hurts the cool air of his room. He wipes his forehead, tries to force the images out of his head. He glances at the clock. 3:30 am. He grunts, frustrated that he has lost yet another night of sleep, knows he can't possibly close his eyes and risk reliving it all again. So he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen, pours himself a cool glass of water, tries to will his heart to stop slamming into his chest.

He thinks maybe he can write some, get the fear still clogging his throat onto a page, make it as authentic as it can get for his fictional characters. So he sits down, starts typing, and gets lost in his other world, safe from nightmares and guns and triple killers.

* * *

He shows up to the precinct early, before 8:00, since he had been awake for so many hours and couldn't stand the silence of the loft anymore. He knows he doesn't look great, his lack of sleep from the past couple of weeks creating dark circles under his eyes. He knows he's slower to smile, slower to crack a joke or make an innuendo, and so far, Kate has graciously said nothing, just trying to give him the space to breathe. But he doesn't want to just breathe, just go through the motions. He wants to tell her. He knows that last thought, that last coherent sentence before he opens his eyes, is the truth. He has known it for some time, but now it's forced itself into the forefront of his mind, and he can't shake it.

"Hey, Castle. You're here early." Her voice cuts into his thoughts. She can't hide the concern behind her words.

"Yeah. Couldn't really sleep." His sentences are dull, a shadow of the extensive vocabulary that he usually puts to good use. It pains her to see him like this, and she realizes this must be how he feels when she looks like she might shatter from the weight of it all. And then it occurs to her that maybe she can reach out to him, use some of her pain to lighten his load.

"Nightmares?" she asks, keeping her voice steady. He looks up at her, surprised, wondering how she could see through him so easily.

"Yeah," he finally responds, unable to contain the chill that runs through his spine at the memories of it all.

"Well, no body today. Just paperwork. Why don't you go home and try to sleep? Sometimes it's not so bad with a little daylight." She doesn't really want him to leave, but she's willing to put her selfishness aside if it means he'll stop looking so _tired_.

"I wouldn't be able to sleep. I'd rather just hang out. Unless you want me to go?" As he's talking, he thinks that maybe she's kicking him out, doesn't want him around like this.

Just as she's about to tell him that isn't what she meant, Esposito's voice breaks through their conversation. "Body just dropped," he states calmly as he hangs up his phone. "Ready?"

And then they're all off, heading to the newest crime scene to try to piece together the puzzle of another life lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm writing two fics at once, but they are my first ever, so I'm not sure if I'm doing justice to the characters. I'm trying to, anyway.**

**As far as Gina and Josh are concerned, for this story, Castle broke up with Gina when he came back to the city and Kate never got together with Josh. It's not reallyyyy fair for me to just bulldoze storylines, but this is just a quick 3-shot and it didn't make sense to draw it out by adding breakups in.**

**Speaking of, I rated it M because it's only 3 chapters and the 3rd is M so I didn't think it made sense to draw in other readers when they weren't going to want to read 1/3 of the story.**

**I appreciate your input so I can do a better job going forward.**

* * *

It's a fairly simple case, all things considered. At first it looked like a mugging gone awry, but it turned out that the victim's wife was tired of hiding her affair, and decided that the best way to handle everything was to hire someone to kill him, keeping her hands clean and gaining access to the wealth of his estate. But she hired someone who lacked in experience, and their crime unraveled quickly.

By 10:00 that evening, everything is dealt with. Everyone but Kate has gone home. He knows it's time for him to leave too, but he feels an overwhelming sense of dread. He doesn't want to go home and endure the scenes that flashed in front of his eyes over and over again, doesn't want to be dragged into the restless sleep of the traumatized. But he takes a deep breath, tries to tell himself that he's being ridiculous as he slips his jacket on.

"Do you want to grab a drink?" Kate's voice cuts through his daze once again. He's surprised; he's usually the one trying to rope her into spending out-of-work time together. It occurs to him that he must look pretty bad if she's trying this hard to reach out to him.

"I would, actually. I'd like that a lot." He feels a sense of relief at not being all alone in this. She was there, maybe not at the moment that his nightmare forces him to relive, but there through the case, there to free him from the chair, from the real-life nightmare that unfolded in front of his eyes. She was there afterwards, her hand on his leg, assuring him that she understood, and that she was right there with him. Her touch had sent an electric current through his body, and for a brief second, he forgot it all. He wanted to forget again, wanted more current to force him out of the prison of his mind.

All of this is rushing through his brain suddenly, and he forgets where he is. He hears himself thinking _I never got to tell her I love her_, over and over, bracing himself for the bullet that is rushing towards him, his mind making the nightmare version even worse than it had been in real life. His chest is heaving, his lungs constricted and unable to take in enough oxygen. His heart is slamming against his chest, hard, over and over, so fast that he thinks he might explode.

"Castle? Castle. _Rick_." Kate can see that he's fallen down the rabbit hole of panic, and is desperate to pull him out. He's not responding to his name, and she's afraid to reach her hand out, afraid it'll startle him too much, and she's not sure she wants to find out if he'd have a violent reaction in this state. But her voice isn't enough, he's not listening, he can't hear her, and she can't bear to just stand by and watch it happen. So she reaches her hand out, tentatively, slowly, and touches his shoulder, pushing gently, trying to get him to look her in the eye. She ducks her head so it's in his line of sight and tries to call to him again. "Rick, hey, come on, it's ok, you're in the precinct, I'm here, it's ok." She's rambling, saying anything, trying to keep her voice steady and soothing, but she's not sure she's succeeding as she feels tears well up in her eyes. Her mind keeps repeating _this is all my fault_ over and over; she's the reason he was ever in danger in the first place, and, ultimately, her actions have led to this moment.

She's desperate, has both of her hands on his shoulders, shakes him, hard. "Castle, can you just look at me, please?" She's crying now, but through her blurred vision she thinks she can see his eyes register his surroundings. Under her hands she feels his body relax a little, his breath start to steady, his heart start to slow.

As he's coming to, he sees that she's crying, and through his panic-induced haze he feels terrible, cannot believe he just lost it like that in front of her, brought her to tears. Not thinking, he pulls her to him, wraps his arms around her, tight, comforting her. "I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. "I'm so sorry." She wants to respond to him, to tell him that he has nothing to be sorry for, that this is all her fault, but her face is buried under his neck, her fists holding tight to his jacket, and she's crying too hard to make any words come out. "I'm so sorry," he's saying it over and over again, running one hand through her hair, the other still pressing across her back.

After what feels like an eternity – but couldn't have been more than two minutes – they both begin to breathe easier, their hearts returning to a more normal rhythm. She loosens her grip on his jacket, starts to back away. The hand he's been running through her hair stops, comes down to her shoulder, as the hand behind her back comes up to her other shoulder, letting her out of his embrace, but not allowing her to move completely away from him. She wipes her eyes, embarrassed by her sudden outburst, by the fact that she somehow turned this around so that he had to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages, her voice barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry. This –" her hands fall to her sides, her eyes to the floor, "this is all my fault." She starts to back away from him then, suddenly needing air, space, anything besides the overwhelming onslaught of emotions that's threatening to send her into tears once again, to send her falling back into the comfort of his arms. But he doesn't let her go. Instead, he takes his right hand and places it under her chin, nudges to make her look him in the eye. She didn't realize how close she was to him and is surprised when she can feel his breath on her face. She wants to back away before they can make this situation any worse, but she is transfixed by the look in his eyes – part sadness, part defeat, part something else entirely. She can't quite place it all.

"The worst part is how it ends," he whispers, his words hitting her in the face. "He shoots in the nightmares. I don't get to walk out."

"Oh, Castle," she breathes and, without thinking, her hand goes up to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing across gently, trying to erase the pain from his face.

"The last thought that flashes through my mind is that I never got to tell you." His voice is still low, but it's serious, and he's keeping eye contact. He knows he is pushing, knows he is about to take this too far, but he's overwhelmed and exhausted by it all, and he just wants to forget.

"Tell me what?" Her voice is choked, still rough from crying, hesitant because she's not sure she wants to know the answer.

He's about to answer her when he decides he can't say those words, can't say _I love you_ to her. It would be too much; she'd run, he'd be alone again. So, before he can think too much into it, he decides to act instead. He leans forward, his lips right over hers, whispers, "Help me forget," right before his lips crash down.

She's stunned, completely thrown off balance, but his words cut her to the core. She reminds herself that this is _all her fault_, that she owes this to him, that she wants it just as much as he does. So she kisses him back. Hard. Her other hand works his way to his face, and she holds him there, tight, as he quickly moves to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue past her lips. And she lets him, grants him entrance to her mouth. If she's honest with herself (which she rarely is when it comes to him), it feels amazing. It's electric, this kiss, like nothing she's ever felt before.

She's thinking this all over when she's pulled from her thoughts by his hands slipping under her shirt, grabbing her at the waist. She inhales sharply as his hands move farther up, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Her breath catches, a small moan escaping her lips, and then he's crashing down on her again, tongues warring for control, for anything other than the fear they can see reflected in the other's eyes.

Then he pauses, stops his hands from moving further, pulls away from her completely. He feels as though the last twenty minutes of his life were controlled by someone else entirely, and as he comes back to himself, he realizes what he is doing. He's embarrassed, alarmed even, and he doesn't know what to do or say.

Seeing his face fall, she too realizes what was happening, but her reaction is different. "Hey, I was right there with you," she says, repeating his earlier action with her hand under his chin, forcing him into eye contact. "It's ok." She's trying to calm him down, but she can see it isn't working, can see the pain in his eyes.

"God, Kate, I am so sorry. I should – I need to go." He rushes past her without another word, takes the stairs because he cannot stand the thought of being in the same room with her for another second. He rushes out into the night, practically runs away from the precinct, doesn't stop until he realizes he's made it all the way home, out of breath, physically and mentally exhausted. He's hoping that everyone is asleep, that he won't have to face them like this, and is relieved to find the lights off when he enters the loft. He makes his way to his bedroom, undressing, wishing he could peel the day off like he can his clothing. The day flashes through his mind. He realizes that he basically forced himself on her, that he took advantage of her.

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to face her again.


	3. Chapter 3

He's woken from a repeat performance of his nightmare by a knock at the door. He's sweaty, his skin clammy, his eyes bloodshot from so many sleepless nights. He slips a pair of flannel pants on as he walks through the kitchen, trying to keep his footsteps quiet so as to avoid waking anyone else up. He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't even stop to wonder who it is, doesn't even look through the peephole, which, at the last second, he realizes isn't very smart, considering there _is_ a serial killer out there who may or may not want him dead. He opens the door anyway, and finds himself almost wishing he was facing Jerry Tyson instead, wishes it was just about anyone else in the world. But it's not. It's Kate.

He stands there, frozen, frustrated because all he wants to do is grab her and kiss her senseless, wants to feel that current, wants to feel anything other than the almost unbearable combination of upset, angry, and hurt. Not trusting himself, he simply stands there, holding his arms firmly at his sides.

She's not terribly surprised by his reaction, but she is nonetheless disappointed by it. She wishes he would just kiss her, make her feel again, wishes that she could make the pained look in his eyes go away. Instead, hesitantly, she speaks. "Hey. Can I come in?" Her voice is soft. She knows he's on edge, knows he thinks he has damaged their relationship beyond repair. Surveying him as he stands there, she can tell he was in the throes of another nightmare. His hair is sticking up in every direction, damp at the edges with sweat. His eyes are glassy, faraway, and she wonders if he even heard her. "Castle?"

"Oh, sorry. Uh, sure, you can come in," he says as he moves out of the way, directs her to the kitchen. "What time is it?" He rubs his eyes, tries to shake off the last of the haze that shadows his mind.

"It's just after 2:00. I'm sorry. I should've called." She stops walking, feels ridiculous, cannot believe she woke him up when she knows how little sleep he has been getting.

"No. It's ok. I wasn't sleeping well." He shrugs in defeat. "Sit," he says, indicating a bar stool at the island as he takes two glasses out of the cabinet. "Want a drink? Water, juice, vodka?" She chuckles at the list he offers, shakes her head as she sits down. He pours himself a glass of water, gulps it down, then refills it. The silence is getting to him. He doesn't know what to say to her, but he figures he should say _something_. "Look, I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to – I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, I did, I just –" He's a stammering mess, trying to figure out how to stop himself from blurting what's running through his mind, because he's pretty sure that _sorry I am madly in love with you and never want to stop kissing you_ is not the right thing to say at this particular moment.

Fortunately, she stops him before he can go any further. "Stop. Don't be sorry." Suddenly, she's not sitting anymore. She's walking towards him, around the island, stopping only when she's right in front of him, their bodies almost touching, his back against the counter. She leans in close, so he can feel her breath on his skin. He is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt and, at that moment, it appears she is, too, but she doesn't react in the way he thought she would. Instead, her hands come up to rest on his bare chest as she leans forward, further invading his space. "I'm not sorry," she whispers as she moves her face closer to his, stretches up to press her lips against his.

He does nothing at first, caught completely off guard, but then he acts. He spins them so her back is against the counter and takes her face in his hands, kissing her hard, her soft moan spurring him on. He's frantic, has never felt this much pent up energy and pure desire in his whole life. He's unbuttoning her shirt, she's _letting him_, shrugging it off once he's done. His mouth goes to her neck, sucking, gently at first, then roughly, running his tongue along the marks he knows he must be making. He feels her moan against him, kisses along the column of her throat, fast, needy. He feels his pants tightening, his need rising faster than it ever has before. As his mouth works her over, his hands go to her jeans, unbuttoning them, wanting all barriers between them gone.

But then he stops, realizes he's in his kitchen, realizes he's doing it. Again. _You really, really need to get a hold of yourself, Rick_, he scolds himself, as he pulls his hands away, as though she's burning his skin. She's breathing heavily, so caught up in the moment that she doesn't understand why he's pulled away. Again. So she says the only thing she can at the moment: "Don't stop. Please don't stop." Her voice is barely a whisper, gravelly with want, with need.

He's defenseless against that, against _her_, cannot possibly deny her this when it's really all he's ever wanted, so he walks back over to her, kisses her softly, and whispers back, "Not here," as he grabs her hand and leads her to his bedroom.

As soon as the door is closed, he has her pushed up against it. He starts a trail of kisses, soft at first, then more forceful, more biting, down her neck, to her chest. In one fluid movement he reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, watching as it falls to the ground. For a second he pauses, staring at her, taking her in. He sees her looking away, clearly uncomfortable under his gaze, so he leans into her ear, kisses the tender spot behind it, grazes his tongue along the lobe. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice part seduction and part reverence.

She's blushing now, feverish with want but thrown off by his compliment, and she decides she needs more control of the situation. So while he stands there, admiring her, pressing his lips closer and closer to her breasts, she pushes on his shoulders, backing him up. He looks up at her, startled. "Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" His voice is soft, his eyes clouded with concern. She shakes her head, pushes him backwards until the back of his legs collide with the bed and he's sitting down, then pushes hard so he's laying on his back. She climbs over him, straddles him, and goes in for a heated kiss, tongues battling again, her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

She prefers being in control, even in the bedroom, and especially considering the circumstances. Her kisses move away from his mouth, across his jaw, to his ear, where she bites down swiftly before seductively whispering, "Let's forget together," and then continues her trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He moans at that, shudders as she drags her teeth across his neck, slipping her tongue out to soothe.

He's so caught up with it all, so lost in his head, battling between _oh my god is this really happening_ and _you should really stop this before everything is ruined_, that he misses how fast she moves down his body. He is immediately brought back to the moment, however, when he feels her hands dip below his waistband and realizes her open-mouthed seduction of his body has brought her lips below his belly button.

He gasps, moans, and can't stop the buck of his hips as she cups him through his pants. "Kate," he whispers, his voice raspy. She ignores him and pulls his pants down his legs and off, then crawls back towards him on all fours. She's about to repeat the motion with his boxers, but he grabs her wrists and pulls her up. He holds her wrists tight with his right hand while he uses his left to grab the back of her head and bring her in for a searing kiss, exploring her mouth deeply with his tongue, drawing delicious moans from her. He releases her wrists, brings his hands to her shoulders, and pushes her to the side, simultaneously rolling over, so he has her pinned between the mattress and his body.

She's surprised that he pulled that off, and gasps as he grinds his hips against hers, the feel of his arousal making her moan loudly. "_Castle_," she breathes, as he latches on to her neck, sucking hard. _"Mmmmm,"_ she half-hums, half-moans, loving the delicious torment of his mouth's slow descent down her body.

His mouth reaches her right breast, and he darts his tongue out to tease her erect nipple. Her body arches up, pressing her closer to his mouth, as she moans. He finally takes it in his mouth and sucks, then soothes again with his tongue. He looks up at her to find her head thrown back, her body arched off the bed, breathing hard, and he is pretty sure he is going to lose it right then and there if he doesn't tear his eyes away. So he works across, giving her left breast the same treatment.

"Rick, _please_," she moans, pushing her hips up to draw his attention back to his clear arousal. She doesn't care that she's begging, doesn't care that she's made more noise during their foreplay than she's ever allowed herself to make during sex. It all feels so good, and so _right_, that she can't make herself be embarrassed or concerned.

Hearing his first name from her lips like that, feeling her grinding herself against him, and looking at her heaving chest, he can deny her no more. In one quick movement (a testament to his former life of strings of one night stands), he takes her jeans and black lace boy shorts down, leaving her bare before him.

He takes a moment to look at her, eyes surveying her whole body. Embarrassed by the scrutiny, she tries to drag him back down to kiss her, but he puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back down. Not giving her a chance to try again, he kisses her smooth, flat stomach, down down down until he is right above her wet center. He glances up at her quickly to find her eyes slammed shut, breath heavy in anticipation, before he finally makes his move.

He kisses her clit, then flicks it gently with his tongue. She writhes, grabs the sheet at her sides, knuckles turning white. Seeing her reaction, he brings his hand up to join him, gliding it slowly down her folds, dragging the evidence of her arousal around, as his tongue and mouth continue to work her clit.

Finally, he brings two fingers to her entrance and glides in, slowly, stretching her as he moves. His mouth pauses as he focuses his attention on her face, making sure he isn't hurting her.

"So good, _so good_," she pants, then, "Rick, more, _please_." He immediately puts his mouth back on her, licking and sucking, as he works his fingers in and out, slowly. Then, without warning, he withdraws his fingers. She whimpers, but quickly forgives, as his tongue and fingers switch places. Working around her clit in soft, torturous circles as his tongue enters her, rough and hot and wet, he finally presses his thumb down, and is rewarded with a scream, an _"oh, god, Rick,"_ and the shudders of her body as she climaxes.

He continues working her with his tongue as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. As her body stops shaking, she reaches for him, and he pulls away from her center, then crawls up her body. She's breathing heavily, flushed, and so unbelievably sexy, as she comes down from her high. He kisses her neck gently, then her shoulder, as he waits for her to calm down.

Her hands go to his biceps, and he looks up at her. "You ok?" he asks softly, brushing hair off of her sweat-dampened forehead. She smiles, then brings him down for a soft kiss, which quickly heats up again.

"Castle, I want you, _all of you_," she whispers between kisses, pushing her hips up to his. Realizing he's still wearing boxers, she sits up a little to push them down, then gets them all the way off with her feet. Finally able to have him, _all of him_, she reaches down and squeezes his erection.

"_Fuck_, Kate," he mumbles, trying to stop his hips from bucking in her hand. She releases him, then lets her thighs fall apart, opening herself to him. He's holding himself over her on his forearms, and he pauses. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice soft again, concerned. It is taking all of his energy to hold himself back, but he doesn't want to do this if she isn't 100% certain this is what she wants.

She nods slowly, then brings her legs up over his thighs to bring him closer. He obliges, positioning himself at her entrance. He looks at her then, and they make eye contact, ready to move into the moment together. He lowers his hips slowly, making sure not to push too far too fast. Her eyes close suddenly, and he stops. He's about to ask her if she's ok, but she opens her eyes, smiles, and whispers, "I'm ok. Just, slow, ok?" He's big, and she needs some time to adjust. He nods, then slowly slides further in.

He's hesitant now, because the very last thing in the world that he wants is to hurt her, but she seems to have adjusted, and shows him by bringing her legs up higher, around his waist, and locking her ankles, pushing him deeper. He goes in, as far as he can at this angle, then slowly glides out, over and over, keeping a steady pace.

He's not entirely sure how he is even holding it together because right now he is inside the woman of his dreams, but he is doing everything he can to make this last. It all feels amazing, and he wants to tell her, so he lowers his head, kisses her temple, and whispers, "You are amazing, Kate. _Amazing_."

In response, she pushes her hips up, taking him deeper, then pulls back, trying to increase the pace. He was having a hard enough time denying himself, and he is certainly not going to deny her, so he moves faster, harder. She moans appreciatively, and he realizes he isn't going to be able to hold back much longer.

"God, Kate, I can't – " he stammers, wants to keep it together so he can bring her to climax first, but he is having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. "Are you…? Because I – _fuck_," he moans on an especially deep thrust.

"Yes," she pants, "yes, I'm there, god, _yes_." She wants him to know it's ok to let go, but is having a similarly hard time forming sentences. He must get the message though, because he thrusts are becoming more erratic, faster, harder. "Let go, Rick," she whispers in his ear as she feels her orgasm begin to take over. He can't possibly hold himself back after that, and he slams one, two, three times and then finally empties himself inside her as he feels her walls tighten around him.

They're breathing hard, fast, and he's completely spent, but he doesn't want to crush her, so he keeps himself propped up on his elbows as he waits to work up the energy to separate from her. She notices this and pulls his hands up so he is forced to collapse on her. She snakes her arms around him, enjoying the feel of him on her, in her, _everywhere_ around her. She hums appreciatively as he places tender kisses against her hair, then her forehead. Finally, he pulls away from her and falls on his back, still breathing hard.

She rolls over so she is against him, stretches her arm out across his waist, and nuzzles her head against his neck. In response, he wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, so she is draped across him. He draws soothing patterns on her back as he feels her breathing slow, and places a gentle kiss on top of her head. She smiles against him.

"That was amazing," he finally speaks, his voice filled with awe. "_You_ are amazing." For a writer, he sure feels like he is coming up short here, but he doesn't know what else he could possibly say. He feels as though he could fill entire novels with words describing how he feels right at this moment, and that still wouldn't be enough.

In response, she simply nods, knowing he can feel it against him. "Sleep, Castle. I'm here, ok? So sleep." This was, after all, brought on by his terrifying nightmares, and she wants to give him an opportunity to get some much-needed rest. His fingers stop moving on her back as his hand comes to rest on her waist and his breathing evens out, and he finally gives in to the pull of sleep. She follows soon after, feeling relaxed and safe in his arms.

* * *

She wakes with a start and blinks hard, trying to figure out where she is. She's brought to reality by the sound of Castle murmuring, "no_, please_," and tossing in his sleep. She sits up to look at him and brushes the hair out of his face, then places her hand on his cheek.

"Castle," she whispers, gently kissing his shoulder. "Castle, it's ok, wake up." He doesn't respond, just continues moving restlessly, his face twisted in obvious agony. So she shakes him, hard, like she had to at the precinct, except this time she's not crying. This time, she is going to be what he needs.

His eyes open wide, and he jolts upright, almost knocking her over in the process. She watches as he blinks repeatedly and tries to orient himself to his surroundings. She sits up, brushes his arm softly, trails light kisses down his bicep, waiting patiently until he calms down. "Hey," she says softly when she feels his body start to relax. "You ok?"

He puts his hand under her chin and nudges so she looks up at him. So many of the same movements but filled with such different emotions. He smiles softly at her, then moves to push a stray hair behind her ear. "He didn't have a chance to shoot," he finally replies. _I'll get to tell you one day_, he thinks, but doesn't dare say that out loud. Instead, he kisses her softly, pulls her into his arms as he brings them back to lie down, and whispers, "Yeah, I'm ok."


End file.
